


Nothing As Exquisite As Surrender

by ThatDamnKennedyKid



Series: The Lessons of the Goddess of Shinobi [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, fem!Hashirama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-10-26 18:31:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10792320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDamnKennedyKid/pseuds/ThatDamnKennedyKid
Summary: Madara had very nearly growled when he saw her standing there, kimono half off her shoulders and collarbones gleaming with soft shimmer supplied by Mito, talking with one of the Daimo's sons. Had the weight of Tobirama's stare not challenged him, he would have had no trouble showing the entitled weakling who, exactly, laid claim to Hashirama.





	Nothing As Exquisite As Surrender

It had been a very tedious ride to the Daimo's estate. It would have been faster to simply run there, or even to swallow his pride and let Tobirama teleport them, but the Daimo insisted that all of his guests arrive by carriage. That was fine for all the pampered nobles that normally attended to such drivel, but he was a  _ninja_ and such banality was, frankly, beneath him. His attentions could be used for nearly  _anything_ else and be worth more. But, as Tobirama had pointedly mentioned, this was the first gala since the village got stable and he, along with the Senju siblings, were obligated to come. 

"Why me?" He had griped, wanting to duck underneath his hair, maybe cut Tobirama. 

"Because they consider you the co-founder." Mito had replied. The redheaded tart knew that he liked her and took every opportunity she could to use it against him. "Even if Hashirama is the leader and the major political figure, you are a very important construct in their minds as well. That, and Hashirama is determined that your credit be recognized. Blame her, if anyone. Tobi's just doing his job."

"Don't defend him."

"I'm his wife. What else am I supposed to do?" She cocked an eyebrow, the decorative bangles in her hair pins jingling. "Besides, I'll be there, so you and I can suffer together."

"Kami save me." Tobirama threw up his hands, not entirely false exasperation running across his face. 

That brought him back here, in a light yutaka, feeling naked without his armour or his weapons, sitting next to Hashirama in the back of a lavish carriage he desperately wanted to set on fire. 

"Just don't think about it." Hashirama said suddenly, as if she could hear his thoughts, smell the fire hidden just behind his teeth. She smiled gently at him, her own yukata open just a little bit more than it was supposed to be. She readjusted herself, reaching over to pull him over. His chin hooked over his shoulder, hsi arm coming to drape over her lap as they faced the scenery flashing past. He was still very uncomfortable with public affection - and even now, he was very aware of the driver sitting just a little ways up - but like this, wrapped around her, he found himself letting her move him. 

Perhaps, with her at his side, it would not be so terrible. 

* * *

Madara wanted to die. 

An hour into the mingle and already he felt like a caged animal. Tobirama had helped him dress and comb out his hair, tying it in a stylish fashion more painful to put together than it was worth. He was more grateful for the other man than he wanted to be, since he couldn't imagine walking into this grand hall the way he originally had planned to. Now, dressed in the finest kimono he'd ever had the grudging pleasure of wearing, he felt like they could see through the attempt to beautify him. The nobles around him looked more than comfortable surrounded by decadence, disgustingly so, and seemed to know that he was farthest away from them. 

"Where is Hashirama?" He whispered harshly to Tobirama. The Senju son was dressed in a simply designed yet elegant kimono, his hair combed and laced with small decorations that looked like snow. 

"She'll be here soon. The ladies are always introduced after the Daimo has had the chance to greet all his guests." Tobirama replied, handling himself with his usual cold confidence that suited him as well on the battlefield as it did in the dance hall. If it wasn't so admirable, it would have been infuriating. 

"Keep track, do you?"

The albino's eyes flickered over to him and he raised a careful eyebrow. "Do I look like a people person? I used to cling to Hashirama at events like these when we were younger. For your first time, you're handling yourself remarkably well."

He snorted. "I'm doing well? I feel like a war hound dressed up by a young girl. How bad was it for you?"

"Hashirama is fond of reminding me that I hissed at one of the girls and bit the hand of one of the boys who tried to take her hand to dance."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty."

He drew some attention with his snort, but Tobirama should just be thankful he didn't laugh like he wanted to. He'd have to ask her for the details later. 

"Don't get too comfortable." Tobirama snarked, though his lips had twitched upwards. "No marriage is sacred in the Daimo's halls. These people will look for any chance to create drama. I'm pretty sure suffering is what some of the old bags feed off. They'll do whatever they can to rile you. Do try to contain yourself."

"I'm not stupid." He growled back, followed by a self-assured smirk. "I know not to bite people in public gatherings."

Tobirama was unphased, simply raising an eyebrow. He imagined that the younger Senju was imaging ways to kill him, but that was of little consequence. 

"Attention all!" 

The guests turned to look up at the platform, where the Daimo was seated once more. An announcer stood at his feet, hands clapped together. 

"As always, the ladies of the court have taken the time to prepare themselves for you. However, we have to special guests this evening that bring with them a feast for the eyes. May I introduce the premier ladies of Konohagakure, Shodaime Senju Hashirama and the Second Advisor's wife, Lady Uzumaki Mito."

"A feast for the eyes?" He muttered, incredulous. "These people are beasts."

Tobirama didn't reply, coldly watching the doors on either side of the announcer. From the left one stepped out Mito, garbed elegantly in a flaming red and gold kimono, beaded with shimmering glass. She was a slight to behold, her makeup done extravagantly with her usual updo replaced by a cascade of fire down her left shoulder pinned there by expensive silver rods - an ode to her husband, wearing matching gold rods in his kimono.

From the right door a moment later stepped out Hashirama. She was as stately as ever, her hair brushed and sparsed with dainty fragrance, but it was her clothing which captured the attention of the room. The fabric itself was not particularly elaborate - off-white embroidered richly with emblems of fire and forest scenes. One shoulder was emblazoned with the Senju crest while the other bore the Uchiha crest, both prominent and artful. Across her lower shoulders was the village crest, followed by her title in kanji. The sleeves, while wide enough to brush the floor with her hands lowered, only came down enough to cover her mid-forearm, leaving the long expanse of her wrists exposed, Uchiha-made jewelry reflecting light back onto the ceiling. The obi around her waist was a brilliant mix of greens and blues, like swimming though high ground seaweed. What was most riveting, however, was the way the kimono didn't even over her shoulders. It stopped, just above the ball of her shoulder and dipped down, covering her breasts but leaving her collarbones and neck painfully bare. To top it all off, there was a gentle shimmer to her skin that he knew was product but wanted to taste regardless. Worst of all, she didn't even seem the slightest bit uncomfortable with the outfit. She took Mito's hand and together they descended the stairs, walking over to their husbands together, smiling and nodding at the men around them as they passed. 

"Welcome to politics." Tobirama whispered, stepping forward to take Mito's hand and guiding her to his side. As any good stateswoman, Mito dipped her head in thanks and pressed into him slightly, as if he was her ultimate protector. Hashirama seemed to know his brain wasn't functioning and just stood beside him as he tried and failed not to stare. 

"Hi." She whispered, smiling. 

"Kami have mercy." He wheezed back, snapping his head straight to look unsseingly at the parade of whoreish women prancing around their husbands and the other men like flouncy prostitutes. None of them bore half the dignity his wife and sister-in-law did, but that just made the scandal of their beauty all the more outrageous. 

"Hmm?"

"I can't believe you're wearing that in public."

Hashirama looked down at herself. " . . . I don't understand what you mean. This is regular attire for these sorts of things."

He had nothing to say that would not sound insulting so he kept his mouth shut even as Tobirama and Mito snickered at his suffering a few feet away. 

* * *

There was nothing quite so insufferable as having to part from Hashirama's side. He could empathize much better now with Tobirama's twenty year old self - his nerves were on fire with jealousy. If his instincts to murder were only half as strong as Tobirama's were to protect his sister from these perverts, then he was proud of the restraint the Senju brother was capable of. 

"I would have never imagined such beauty existed before I saw you."

He grit his teeth, trying  _very_ hard to keep up idle conversation with the wife of some tycoon. It was already uncomfortable speaking with her when she was so obviously trying to pull him away for a quick tour of the inner workings of her kimono, but the blatant flattery being directed his  _wife's_ way was killing him.

"How could such a fine creature come from a ninja clan? The decadence, the elegance of you is too much for me."

Hashirama, to her credit, only chuckled. "I'll give it to you, you're cute, but you're barely of age, Yuki."

"What I lack in knowledge can be taught and experience is a poor substitute for the vibrancy of youth, Lady Hokage."

She tapped his nose. "None of that is a replacement for love. You've been at these things since you were a boy. Don't pretend you're meeting me now for the first time."

"I am, though. This is my first time meeting you as a man."

Hashirama laughed again. "Ah, so cute."

"How am I cute, my Lady?"

"Yuki, you're barely of age. Manhood comes with more than how long you've lived."

The runt's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't see how."

Hashirama, knowing the delicacy her wording required, chose to simply pat his cheek. "You will know when the time comes, but I will not be the one to show you."

Before she could pull her hand away, the crackly teen grabbed hold of it, keeping it pressed there. "Oh, my Lady, were only you able to stay here all the time. I do wish so that you would pass on the village to come to true decadence here, with us. With  _me_. What a glory that would be."

He didn't even acknowledge the incensed noblewoman he left standing there alone as he moved over to Hashirama, snaking an arm around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "Dreams truly are fanciful, aren't they? A place where you can bend reality to suit even the most unrealistic of things."

The boy sputtered. "Excuse me? And you are?"

"I would be Uchiha Madara, Konohagakure's First Advisor." He felt his pride spark when the child paled. His reputation had its uses, it seemed. "And I, unlike the Hokage, have no pretenses I need adhere to."

"Madara." She warned, closing her eyes. 

Yuki found his courage again. "Cowed by a woman, I see. Perhaps you have less to you than the rumours suggest."

"Were your women any more than trained whores, perhaps your woefully weak mind would understand her value. Perhaps, but unlikely." He smiled as she tensed. 

Yuki scowled. "You say that as if Hashirama isn't here for the same reason."

She snapped her fingers in front of his face and the resulting chakra blast made Tobirama stumble in surprise. Even Madara himself was aghast, saved from it by virtue of being behind her. "Remember, child, that the moniker  _God of Shinobi_ does not come lightly and neither does the title of Hokage. When you are int he presence of your elders and your betters, you will speak with the respect and care they deserve. You will never address me disrespectfully and informally ever again. Have I made myself heard?"

Yuki, along with most of the hall, nodded quickly.

"And as for you, Lord Uchiha," She turned to face him, her serious glare more private than her display with the boy. "you will restrain your mouth or face retribution at my discretion. Do you understand?"

"Of course, Lady Senju." He dipped his head cordially. Many times, Izuna had had to save him from his own mounting ire. It was clear in the way she begged him with her eyes to give in to her leadership now. "I spoke without thinking. My deepest apologies."

She nodded back. On cue, Mito and Tobirama swept over, starting idle conversation. The party was quick to follow their example, forgetting about the issue and throwing back sake to loosen muscles still shook from Hashirama's display. 

When tensions had sufficently eased, Tobirama and Mito swept away once more, leaving the couple to themselves. Hashirama pulled him outside, into a garden maze and around a couple of turns to a dead end. Evidently, she had needed to do this once or twice with Tobirama in the past. 

"So, are you going to tell me what all that was about?" She asked. He had expected her to be angry or cross, at the very least displeased. But she just gazed at him, waiting and patient - unjudgemental. 

"You didn't just expect me to  _cope_ with this, did you?" He snapped, unjustly taking out his frustration on her. 

"Deal with what?"

"How could you let him speak to you in such a way? Like you're nothing more than a cheap whore, a thing to be bought and dusted when needed? It's revolting!"

She furrowed her brow a little at that, but still didn't rile. "Madara, that's how these things go. If you had been paying attention to nay of the women talking to you, you would have heard nothing but one proposition after another, talk of marriage over and over again. It's a game to them here. They don't believe in love or fidelity. They don't understand that the rest of the world doesn't function like they do, much less ninjas like us."

"That does not excuse you!"

"I'm not arguing that it's bad." She replied. "I don't like being treated like a china doll anymore than you like hearing it. But its once a year for one evening. We can handle that much, I would think."

"Then what about this?!" He gestured to her kimono, snarling so fiercely his Sharingan flared. 

"Its customary for the Daimo's wife to chose the attire of the female guests. This was her gift to me."

He snarled again, pushing her back against the rockwork, fingers twisting into claws in the cracks. "And you would wear it? Something like this - a dress made of sin. Was it your intention to get me jealous? To parade yourself around like this?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Then give me a reason. There has to be a reason."

"I wore it because it was a gift. It would be rude." She didn't look particularly impressed with him now. 

"So it wasn't to drive me crazy?" The tension drained from his body and he pressed himself into her, tucking his face into her shoulder. "Could you tell that you were?"

She pet down his arm. "Is that why you acted like that? Because you were jealous?"

"What sane man wants the beauty of his wife enjoyed by others?" He rolled his head and met her gaze. "The Daimo's wife has brilliant taste, even if it was designed to test my patience. The fabric is graceful and elegant, capturing the lethality of your movement so wonderfully. The obi is beautiful, tying off your waistline so perfectly. And the way the neck of the kimono accentuates your shoulders, your collarbone, your neck . . . I want to mark it, cover it in bleeding bites and black hickeys since there is no way for you to hide them. My marks on your skin, all over your skin . . . "

She shifted, tucking her face into his shoulder before biting him savagely though the cloth. He grunted, pushing her harder into the stone. 

"What are you doing?"

"If you wanted me, all you had to do was say." She gave him a cheeky smirk, running her thumb along his jawline. 

"Are you serious?"

"If anyone is allowed to have lecherous thoughts about my dress, I would think it would be my husband. Don't you?"

He rumbled, displeased. "Don't try to turn this back on me."

"It's part of my job to mingle and present myself to their tastes."

"Even at the expense of your own modesty?"

"Madara," She chided, voice soft and tone intimately different from her flirtation before, "you and I both know that there is no such thing as  _modesty_ for either of us and there never will be."

"Maybe not," He admitted, "but does that does not make me any more comfortable with this."

"I would hope you're uncomfortable." She cupped his cheek, catching his eye. "If you weren't, I would be a little more unnerved."

He turned on her then, one hand catching hers to tangle together and the other slipping through the slit in the kimono to trace the hard muscle of her upper thigh up to the blockage of her obi. "What would the Lady Hokage be comfortable with her humble Advisor doing then, hmm? What mercies if he allowed that the other guests are not?"

She leaned back, letting the long slope of her neck catch the moonlight, shimmering bronze even in the cool blue of the evening. "I should think he would know his place, his allowances. Wouldn't you?" She quirked a playful eyebrow, but her smile was sheer sensuality - the very thing that had him fall into her bed the first time. "What good is a servant if he doesn't even know his duties?"

"A servant, you say?" He chuckled, mock-offended. "If I didn't know better, I would believe that even the God of Shinobi needs a caretaker, to be handled instead of handling constantly. But, I suppose, if a servant is what she has, he should indeed know how to please his mistress. For what good is a servant if he cannot take the most precious item from the highest pedestal to care for, to have at his mercy - all the more precious for its utter impossibility?"

"I never expected a warrior-poet when I married a ninja." She didn't blush - was incapable now - but she did imitate innocence particularly well. 

"Did you expect him to be a tiger, then?" His hand slid along the line of her obi to her back before sliding down, bringing her thigh up around his waist even as his fingers slipped into pooling wetness. "For you to be his sport, his claim?"

"I expected a tiger, yes." Her hand pushed into the locks of hair on the back of his neck, pulling his face closer. "What I got was a man with a tiger's heart. I love him all the more for it."

He growled lowly, slamming forward and taking her mouth for himself. Like with everything between them, she gave as good as she got, leaving his lips bruised and bitten, her own saliva in his mouth along with the taste of her wine. Unable to gain the upper hand, another growl rippled from him and he dipped his fingers in further, taking his cheap advantage for what it was. When she began to relax, to release those little mewls of surrender, he had to jerk back. 

"No, Madara-"

He leaned back into her, once more sharing air, but his fingers retreating. She made a little wounded noise of confusion he hushed by brushing their noses together. "Not here. Not here, Hashirama. You don't deserve to be treated like a harlot - fingered and fucked int he company of  _hedges_ with a party mere feet away."

"Madara,  _please_ -"

"No." His voice was firm. "I  _will not_ treat you like this. We will return and make our excuses." He grinned, lecherous. "Then, for the hours of the trip back to Konoha, we can tease and play. Once we arrive back home, discreetly behind our own doors and bathed in the comfort and respect your brilliance demands,  _then_ ," He barred his teeth at her and she shivered, flushed and wanting, "I will take what belongs to me, claim everything about you that the weaklings inside that worthless hall would  _crawl_ just to glimpse. And there, in the dark and the heat, I will make sure you never stray from me."

"And of me? What can I do to keep your attention from wavering?" She murmured back, eyelashes fluttering as she glanced down at his lips, no doubt considering if she could get away with stealing a kiss. 

"You've had all of my attention since you were a young girl, challenging me to cliff-running and speaking of safety and villages and dreams." He ran their noses together, his bangs shifting into hers. "Can't you see? I'm already at your feet."

* * *

The whole way home, his touches had been feather-light and his kisses chaste and simple. It was fascinating to watch the way Hashirama got more and more desperate, gravitating to his lap then to squirming and grinding. 

"My, my," He teased, "like this even in front of the driver?"

She whimpered, pressing light kisses up his neck and biting his pulse just enough to trigger his fighting instincts. " _Madara._ "

"Oh no." He rumbled, stilling her hips with one hand while the other wrapped around the back of her neck. "You don't get to tease like that."

" _Me?_ " Her laugh was incredulous, halfway hysterical. "Since when have I been teasing you?"

He smirked, leaning forward to lick across her collarbones, biting sharply on her shoulder. "Since the first time we met as adults. Haunting my dreams, plaguing my thoughts . . . I could barely function for the way you possessed my mind. Fighting you was made even more difficult by it - the desire to dominate and control your life was entirely different than the one I had to feel on the battlefield, entirely different in the best of the worst ways. All that time, standing beside you as an ally as you raised a dream into reality, was time spent in your twisted torture. Then, to have you as my  _wife_ . . . I'm surprised we don't have sex more often, frankly, with the way you make me lose control of my inhibitions."

She giggled. "We have sex almost every day."

"And yet, I want you more than that. If it were up to me, I would have you bedridden, too sore and aching to move, so satisfied you can't keep consciousness."

She frowned some. "Then why haven't you?"

He blinked, startled. "Pardon?"

"Why haven't you, then? I could afford one day where Tobirama handles the paperwork. I wouldn't mind spending a day being catered to by my husband, in all regards."

"I suppose our return tonight is unexpected and we are set to return tomorrow in true discourse." His grin went lecherous. "I suppose it is only necessary to show you the true scope of my commitment to my passion."

"I would certainly appreciate it."

"Just an hour more, then, love." 

She groaned, tortured, collapsing against him in agony. "Why are you like this?"

"Mostly just to see you suffer." He ran a hand through her hair, holding her close, doing his best to keep her excitement from dying without really riling her anymore. 

They were very,  _very_ to live alone.

 


End file.
